


Control

by lastingopposite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dark!Allison, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastingopposite/pseuds/lastingopposite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott can feel the wolf surging through his body, through every cell, pounding through his veins. He could control it, focus his mind on his anchor, but he doesn't. </p><p>He doesn't need to. Allison controls him tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> For kink_bingo, to fill the square Subspace/Headspace.

Scott can feel the wolf surging through his body, through every cell, pounding through his veins. He could control it, focus his mind on his anchor, but he doesn't. 

He doesn't need to. Allison controls him tonight.

As he thinks her name, his claws begin to retract, his teeth shrink, all without any more conscious thought. He winces at his transgression.

The Hunter speaks behind him, her voice commanding and low. "Wolf, I did not give you permission to revert." 

He nods and lets his mind drift back down into something more primal, the Hunter's scent filling his nose. There is suddenly a coppery tang in the cold night air, the Hunter's blood, sweet and overwhelming.

The Wolf growls low in his throat, his eyes flashing yellow in the moonlight, and he drops to all fours. His head whips around. She holds a long, wicked blade in her hand, and he sees a pale line of red across her forearm, barely a scratch, but it feels like a river in his nostrils, in his mouth. He pants, can feel the saliva dripping on the dry leaves at his feet.

"Good," she says, and his heart rises in his chest. He has pleased her.

She tosses the blade between her hands, approaching him with careful steps. He wants to surge forward, to sink his teeth into the pearly skin of her neck, where her pulse pounds visibly to The Wolf's eyes. His muscles strain with the effort of holding back.

She sees this and smiles. Not a smile of triumph, exactly, it is too cold and sad for that. Still, his pulse races to match her own.

She kneels down, her face inches from his, taunting him with her nearness.

He growls again, the Wolf sings in his blood, only leashed by the compulsion to obey. She raises the blade, glinting in the moonlight, until it is directly between them, leveling him with a challenging stare. He holds her gaze, and then his eyes cut downward, just long enough to show his lowered status. She is his Alpha at this moment, her word is law. 

With agonizing slowness, the blade comes toward his hirsute cheek, and it seems an eternity before it bites down into his flesh. "No changing, Wolf," she orders, her expression unyielding. The exquisite pain pierces through him, and he can almost feel the hair receding around the cut, so he plunges his consciousness down, down, so far into the Wolf that he no longer remembers anything but this, but the Hunter and Wolf, the pain and the blood and the longing.

Another scent overwhelms him, then, the smell of the Hunter's arousal, thick and moist. But the Wolf knows she will not allow him to touch her, he does not want what she does not want, though his body shakes with arousal as well.

She marks his other cheek with the knife, and the blood runs down his face, to the corner of his mouth. It inflames him more, even as the other cut heals. She could mark him over and over, carve her name into his flesh, mark him as hers, and though he would heal too quickly to see, every cut she has ever made penetrates his soul, marks his heart indelibly.

But tonight she stops short, far short of usual, and he resurfaces just enough to see she is somehow satisfied, as if each wound she makes on his body is slowly healing the wounds to her spirit, wounds made by everyone who wished to control her, to manipulate her. She needs this control over him as much as he needs to be controlled.

"Scott," she says in a quiet voice.

He feels the Wolf leave him at her gentle tone, slipping away like a dream. "Allison?"

"No more Wolf tonight." Then she's kissing him, pressing him into the leaf-strewn grass, and her orders are more velvet than steel. But when he takes her from behind, her moans tell him that just a little of the Wolf is more than welcome.


End file.
